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It rained through the entire coronation. Most of the nobles weren’t even paying attention as Alistair Theirin was crowned. Their eyes were on Saryi Tabris—no, the Hero of Ferelden. The Grey Warden that killed the Archdemon and survived. Somehow, she didn’t squirm under their intense stares.
I don’t know why Anora insisted I come. Saryi’s hand tightened on the handle of her cane. She was still unsteady on her feet. The only people who should see me like this are Zevran and Wynne. The dress Anora had picked out was a proper Warden blue, lined with silver embroidery. It was the finest dress Saryi had ever won in her entire life. Thank the Maker, at least it covers all the bandages.
The rain started the second the Archdemon was dead, as if the Maker himself was rejoicing its explosive end. It seared her burns. She didn’t stop screaming, not even as Zevran dragged her back inside. Wynne somehow had enough mana to cast spell after spell to knit her smoldering skin back together. She couldn’t even walk. Loghain had to carry her down the thousands of steps out of Fort Drakon.
Riordan didn’t say anything about the fact that the Archdemon exploded as it died. Her entire body was burned in some way or another. Did he even know? The Fourth Blight was over three hundred years ago. I doubt anyone bothered to record that Garahel got cremated in the blast. She was glad she didn’t let Alistair fight in the battle. No matter how much he hated her for it. He wouldn’t have recovered if he saw me injured that bad. He was so upset when Zevran nearly killed me. I couldn’t bear seeing him that upset again.
The Archdemon’s death had awarded her a list of titles longer than her arm. The Hero of Ferleden shone the brightest of them all. The lands of Rendon Howe were stripped from his family and gifted to the Grey Wardens, but there were whispers in the court that Anora would give up the lands and titles of Loghain Mac Tir to Saryi Tabris.
An Elven Teryna, the first since the fall of the Dales. Please let it be just a rumor, Saryi prayed. It felt like a strange dream. Every morning, she thought she’d open her eyes in her tent in the hills of the Bannorn or at the Maker’s side. Every morning, she thought, I’m alive. I don’t want to die. Her heart remained beating in her chest, unpierced by a dagger.
Saryi’s eyes flickered back to Alistair. His darted away. All the titles and gold in the world could never repair their relationship. Her decision at the Landsmet had struck the fatal blow. It cost her everything that actually mattered.